Singing Flowers
by el sombrerero
Summary: Alice has lost it, or perhaps she just can't remember. All he knows is that she can't hear the flowers like she used to and then there's the fear of her losing her muchness again.


"Can you hear them?" There was certain enthusiasm hidden behind his voice. His hands were placed impatiently above my shoulders, his fingers drumming softly against them. I leaned in, eyes closed, wanting more than anything to hear what he so enthusiastically talked about the past half hour as we walked. "Can you?" He interrupted again, a wicked grin gracing his features. And I tried my best to give him an answer, but everything was quiet, silence too pronounced to make room for any of the wondrous things he had described to me before.

I turned to him, eyes lowered, too engulfed in the colors of his bow-tie, the pinks, blues, and yellows swirling as I avoided the disappointment in his eyes. "No." My eyes dared to look at his, which were lost in the flowers before us. "They're so pretty, though and they smell so lovely," I added, wanting more than nothing to see those lively eyes to gain color again.

He frowned. "I-I thought, you know, that you could; you could before, didn't you? I know you could hear them. I know it." There was disappointment, but what shinned the most was sorrow. "Have you... no, you couldn't have. Alice couldn't have lost her muchness again. This is my Alice. She has her muchness intact." And he lowered his gaze to inspect me, eyes looking directly at mine and the color was so dull. "It's there, right? I can see it." He leaned in, eyes still scrutinizing mine, moving erratically from me and then back to the flowers. "My Alice could sing with them. I remember that, you singing to them and then they would get mad because nobody would look at them as long as you were there. Do you remember? Or-do you?"

There was a faint memory of singing flowers, so faint, from when I thought it was all inside my head, from when I thought that this place was a nightmare. But I couldn't remember the voices, the singing, nothing. "I'm sorry."

He took me further into the wild garden, his hand softly holding mine as he guided me through the maze. "They are talking now. Can you hear them?" He turned to me, small smile playing on his lips, but the silence was still there. "Sit." My eyes darted to him, slightly taken aback by his change in demeanor; he was determined. "Sit, sit. You need to hear them. You need to-yes, yes, perhaps that could work." He talked to nobody, still I complied and sat down, careful to not sit on any of the pretty flowers.

He sat next to me, close, too close, comfortably too close. "Sing to them. It can work, maybe it can, go on ahead, sing. Alice used to sing for them; you used to sing for them." I looked at him for a moment and then began humming softly as he looked expectantly at me. "I hope you're right and this works; you can see it, right? You can see the muchness like I do?" There was a pause as I tried to spot to whom was he talking to, my mind thinking of that grinning cat, but upon not finding that floating smile, I continued singing. "Yes, yes, I know she's been gone for a while, like 26 tea parties she has missed. Yes, you might be righ-no, wait, this is Alice; she can't lose it that easily. Her muchness is there and she has come back, always." He talked in a hush, still looking at me momentarily and then continuing his argument. "Not on time? Well, it's not like that bloody bugger has worked for me, so I can't be sure of that." He turned to me then, eyes shimmering with hope. "Can you hear them already? They are talking about you." But I shook my head. There was still silence.

"It's not working," he murmured, looking at his shoulder at something that I could simply not see, much like I couldn't hear the flowers. "What? No. No, no, no, no, no. No. It's-no." He looked at me and then back at his shoulder. "It's-I don't know what they are. Breads-and-butterflies, yes, that's how it feels, here" He pointed at his stomach, eying me carefully as he did so. "Well, no. It can't. Everybody else hears them." Silence and he looked at me, eyes a storm of colors. "It can't be that. The cat hears them, you hear them, everybody hears them. It can't be that." He sighed. "I kno-it can't. Yes, I'll try, but how? Oh, don't come with that, I know _how_ but not **how**." His hands waved erratically as he tried to explain himself to whatever resided on his shoulder. "I-yes, perhaps it will work. Fine then, shush." He took his hat off, eyes looking back at me as he waved a hand over his shoulder to scare the invisible thing he had been talking to. "Gnats and their jokes." He smiled sheepishly, eyes adverting from my gaze.

"I remember a Gnat on my head. It loved jokes." The memory was faint, but it was there and the name was familiar. "But he couldn't make one. I remember snap-dragonflies, too, and a rocking-horse-fly, and-and bread-and-butterflies." There was a realization that hit me as his actions about the location of breads-and-butterflies was explained to his Gnat, and I couldn't help but let color rise to my cheeks.

"Alice?" There was hesitation and the storm in his eyes had resided as he scooted closer to me, being replaced by a small glimmer. "I-I think I know why your muchness is not working, why you can't hear the flowers talking and why they are not singing to you." He looked down to his hat being held firmly with both of his hands, and I could see them trembling.

"Hatter?" He looked up at me, small smile present in his features. He sighed and closed his eyes, the smile still present, his hands still shaking. "Wha-" But I was stopped as I saw his hand reaching to me, then entangling in my hair, playing with it and him scooting even closer, much closer.

"I-sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry." He repeated his mantra, over and over, pressing his forehead against mine, hand still playing with my hair, but there was nothing to be sorry about; it was perfect and the bread-and-butterflies, I could understand him. And his eyes were shut closed, still repeating how sorry he was for something he hadn't done yet. "Sorry," he whispered one last time, his forehead no longer pressed against mine, yet a very small gap between the two of us. And then I felt his lips pressing against mine softly, lingering a bit longer than needed. It was an innocent peck, and there was still nothing to be sorry about.

"Sorry," he parted away, eyes looking away from me, hand still playing with the tips of my hair. There was silence again, but then there was certain humming in the wind, slowly but steadily rising as I looked at him. Bread-and-butterflies. Flowers singing. I smiled, the red tint on my cheeks slowly fading to a soft pink. "I-I can hear them. It's like before."

I looked at him enthusiastically, a smirk had replaced that apologetic expression that had plagued him once the kiss was over. "I knew my Alice still had her muchness," he whispered to his shoulder, the Gnat apparently was back. Then he looked at me and smiled softly, mouthing an _I'm sorry_ but he was really not, and there was still nothing to be sorry about."Yes, it feels like bread-and-butterflies."


End file.
